


Lay This Body Anywhere

by monicawoe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood Drinking, Blood Magic, Gen, Post Season/Series 07, Purgatory, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Season/Series 07-08 hiatus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-05
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-11 11:53:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monicawoe/pseuds/monicawoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the ohsam commentfic meme, for the prompt:<br/>Post S7/Pre-S8: Sam finds out he can use his powers to bust Dean and Cas out of purgatory. He falls off the demon blood wagon. He tries to break them out, but it's a huuuuuge strain and he can only manage to grab Dean, and maybe the effort scrambles Sam's eggs a little, and he wasn't doing so hot with his magic mental health cure locked in Purgatory anyway. So basically, Dean comes back from Purgatory to a twitchy, hallucinating, migraine-plagued, babbling mess of a reluctant demon blood junkie. What little of a lucid Sam remains is convinced that he can rescue Cas too if he just has ONE MORE TRY.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

When Dean opens his eyes again, he sees a dusty, worn, wooden floor. That's his first hint that he isn't in Purgatory anymore. The second is that there's somebody muttering to himself close by. Somebody that doesn't sound like Castiel, but sounds a whole lot like his brother.  
  
He props himself up on his elbow, surprised that his arm doesn't hurt more -- he's still bleeding from where the rugaru got a hold of his forearm earlier. He rubs his hand against his scratchy beard and looks again towards the hunched over figure sitting in the back corner of the room, "Sam?" The word comes out more of a rough wheeze, his voice still shredded from shouting himself hoarse trying to call for Castiel's help during the last werewolf pack showdown they'd had.  
  
The angel hadn't been able to anchor himself to any one spot in Purgatory too well. He'd disappear from time to time, sometimes at the  _worst_  possible moments, only to show up again at some point, usually with no idea of how long he'd been gone.  
  
"Sam?" Dean says again, forcing his voice to be stronger. "Sammy, is that you?"  
  
The person in the corner moves,  _flinches_  like he's been hit, and then lifts his shaggy head, looking at Dean with bleary, dark eyes. He rubs the back of his hand against his nose, and then moves forward, in a weird half-crawl, like he's too tired to stand up all the way. He shuffles closer and closer to Dean until he's close enough to reach out and touch him on the shoulder.  
  
"You're here?" Sam asks, his voice soft and disbelieving. "You're really here. I did it."  
  
It  _is_  Sam, and oh how Dean wishes it wasn't. The wan light from the poorly boarded up window hits the side of Sam's face, revealing blood smeared skin, and dark, black eyes.  
  
"You got me out?" Dean tries to keep his voice calm, and clear. Whatever his brother did to free him, it cost him. Too much. "Sammy, what did you do?"  
  
Sam stares at him and smiles,  _grins_  wide. His teeth are stained with blood. "He said you weren't really here, that I was just seeing things. He said I wasn't strong enough -- said I'd never be strong enough, but I knew I was -- I could feel it, I could feel it tearing open." Sam says, his words spilling out and then falling silent. He moves his hand against Dean's cheek, and his fingers are shaking. "That place...it didn't want to let you go, it was so  _strong_." Sam blinks slowly, deliberately, and his eyes shift, from black to something sickly yellow and white. "But I was stronger." He pulls his hand back suddenly, and skitters away from Dean, back into the corner.  
  
Dean swallows, and tries to say something else, but instead coughs, his throat suddenly remembering how desperately he needs water. He looks to Sam, hoping he'll get the hint.  
  
Unfortunately, Sam seems to be arguing with the empty space on his right. "I know I didn't. I'll just...I'll try again. Shut up!" he snarls angrily, "I can do it. I got Dean." His nose starts to bleed, and he wipes at it absently, looking over to Dean for just a second, before his eyes flick back to his right.  
  
Pushing himself to his feet, Dean stops coughing long enough to look around the dark room, trying to find the kitchen, or a sink, or anything that might have drinkable water. His eyes fall on a cooler just inside the next room, and he staggers towards it, holding himself up against the doorframe. He flips open the cooler, grabs a handful of ice, and pours it into his mouth, so desperate for liquid, for water -- in any form. The ice melts on his tongue, and it feels so good he nearly moans in relief.  
  
"You're thirsty," Sam says from right next to him. "I have water." Sam walks past Dean into the room beyond, disappearing into the darkness.  
  
Dean runs his hand through the half-molten ice, looking for a bottle. There has to be something worth drinking in the cooler. His hand touches something -- not bottle-shaped. He clasps his fingers around the object and pulls it up out of the ice. It's a Tupperware container. Upon closer inspection, Dean sees that it's filled with some kind of meat.  
  
"Dragon heart," Sam says as he hands Dean a bottle of water and takes the Tupperware container. His eyes are hazel again. "This is the last one. I went through three trying to get you back." He sticks the plastic tub back into the cooler and closes the lid.  
  
"Oh." Dean thinks he should probably feel queasy knowing that his mouthful of ice had been refrigerating dragon hearts, but he doesn't. He downs the bottled water, and turns his attention back to Sam. "So that's the spell? A dragon heart, and what else? Some herbs and bones, mix it all together, set it on fire and pop open a door to purgatory?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Yeah guess it couldn't be that easy--"  
  
"I have to eat the dragon heart. Then my power can reach Purgatory instead of Hell."  
  
Okay, now Dean is queasy. Granted he'd had to eat some questionable things in Purgatory just to get by, but not... "You cooked them first right? The hearts?"  
  
Sam shakes his head. "The power's not just in the heart, it's in the heart's blood. It's always the blood." Sam laughs, sharply and turns back to the corner where he'd been sitting. "Nobody asked you!" he snaps at the emptiness.  
  
"Is it...are you seeing Lucifer again?" Dean asks carefully.  
  
"He says I can't get Cas out, too. Says if I try, it'll kill me," Sam smirks at Dean and his eyes shift again, from hazel to black. "But he said I'd never get you out either. Kept telling me I'd die before I got you out. But he was  _wrong_ , even that time my heart stopped -- it didn't kill me, I just had to keep drinking, just had to keep trying, and trying and then finally..." Sam stares at Dean with feverish eyes that keep shifting color, "I could hear you, and I knew just where to look, where to tear open the door," he nods to himself. "That's when I knew I could do it. I just had to be a little stronger."  
  
Dean nods slowly, keeping the bitterness out of his voice as best he can when he asks, "You got stronger by drinking demon blood again, right?"  
  
Sam shrugs, and gestures behind Dean.  
  
Against his better judgement, Dean turns and squints into the darkness. The room stinks of sulfur and blood. He walks into the dark room a few steps until his vision adjusts, and stares from the stained floorboards up at the massive Devil's Trap drawn onto the ceiling.  
  
There's a small altar set up nearby with a still slowly smoldering cauldron. "You summoned them here?" Dean asks.  
  
"Yeah," Sam stands by the doorframe, backlit by the soft light from the other room. His silhouette looks larger than Dean remembers, like the demon blood nourished more than just Sam's powers. Either that or dragon hearts are really high in protein. "One at a time at first, then in small groups. It's easier that way. Otherwise I have to redo the Devil's Trap after every single one and that's just a pain in the ass."  
  
"You need a Devil's Trap?" Dean asks, confused. He was sure holding demons in place had been a part of Sam's skill set.  
  
"No, not really, but I didn't want to risk wasting power on anything other than getting you out. You have  _no_  idea how hard it was. How close I was to just --" Sam looks away then, his eyes absent again, listening to a voice only he can hear.  
  
"Harder than killing Lilith?" Dean asks.  
  
Sam looks back at him. "You're serious?" His face shifts from confusion to something almost manic, "I could kill Lilith a hundred times over and it wouldn't even come close to how much power I needed to bust you out." He walks closer to Dean, and Dean takes an involuntary step back. "Do you have any idea how many I had to--"  
  
"No, no I don't. And I'm pretty sure I don't want to know."  
  
"You don't." Sam takes a deep breath and rolls his shoulders back. "Look, if I'm gonna try to get Cas out too, I have to try again tonight. The moon's only gonna be in the right phase for another four hours. After that I have to wait six months, and I don't think I'll last that long." He looks over his shoulder for a minute, listens, and then turns back to Dean. "He's right. You should go. You don't want to see this."  
  
"Are you insane?" Dean sputters, "I'm not leaving you alone, not when you could die from this. What makes you think I'm gonna even let you  _do_  this? You barely survived the first time!"  
  
Sam lets out a sad huff. "If I don't get Cas out, I'll die anyway. I'll probably die even if I do get him out. You seriously think there's any way I'll make it through detox this time?" Sam holds his palm up and moves it close to Dean's face. His veins are black and pulsing. They run all the way through his hand, down his arm, and further. As Sam unbuttons the collar on his shirt, Dean sees the same black veins running down the sides of his neck. "This happens if I go more than two hours without drinking any demon blood. Two hours," he repeats again angrily, and tries to button up his collar again, but his fingers are shaking too badly.  
  
"Then why did you...why did you do this to yourself?"  
  
"You know why. What other choice did I have?" Sam says, softly. "I couldn't leave you there. I was going to end it -- one way or another. At least this way, I got you out first." He looks towards the cooler and adds, "I have to get started. You should go."  
  
"No, Sam. I'm not gonna let you do this. We're gonna take care of you, get you better, okay? Then we'll figure out some other way to get Cas--"  
  
"There is no other way," Sam says simply. Then he turns to Dean with solid-black eyes, takes a deep breath and says, "You should get some rest, you look tired."  
  
Dean reaches for his brother, tries to fight the pull of sleep, but his legs crumple under him, and the world fades out as his vision fails. The last thing he hears is Sam saying, "Don't worry, Dean. I can do this."


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel’s voice wakes him. “This is different.”   
  
Dean blinks open his eyes and stares at the angel. He’s wearing what’s left of his trench-coat and his scrubs — shredded as they were down in Purgatory. There are streaks of red, black and every color of ichor covering them, and big chunks are missing from the front of the coat.   
  
“It’s dark, but the sky isn't bleeding anymore. How did I get here?” Castiel asks, crouching down next to Dean. “I tried to follow you earlier. There wasn’t enough room.” He reaches his hand out to Dean and pulls him up until he’s sitting. “They’re all wondering where you went, down there.”   
  
“They can all go screw themselves,” Dean says, pushing himself to his feet. “Where’s Sam?”   
  
“Sam…” Castiel’s eyes widen. “Oh yes, that would explain things. Sam was here, but then he left.”   
  
“Okay…where did he go?”   
  
“I’m not sure,” Castiel says. “He looked wrong though. Full of red and black, and there’s too much of him spilling out around the edges.”   
  
“Did you see where he went? Did he go out a door, or just go poof, or what?”   
  
“He went out a door.”   
  
Dean contemplates strangling the angel briefly, but then realizes there really aren’t that many doors in this wreck of a house to begin with. He gets up and looks around at the options.   
  
There’s the door leading outside, which is the last place to check, but also the least likely. In the condition Sam was in, he probably wouldn’t have gone out into the open. Probably. Then again, considering what he’s done to get Dean — and now Cas — out of Purgatory, what Sam will and won’t do isn’t all that easy to gauge anymore.   
  
Dean pauses on a particularly creaky floorboard as he turns back around, walking into the room he’d first woken up in. There’s a faint noise coming from below his feet that makes his skin crawl. He crouches down and puts his ear close to the floor. As soon as he hears the sound again, he knows exactly what it is and moves to the basement door as quickly as he can. He runs downstairs, nearly tripping in the process. “He’s down here!” Dean shouts over his shoulder.   
  
The basement is filled with crates — mostly empty and broken. There’s a boiler that looks like it hasn’t worked in years and in the very back there’s another room. It’s got a heavy metal door, and on the other side of it, Dean can hear Sam. He’s moaning, he’s in pain. “Sam!” he yells, pounding on the door. “Sammy!”   
  
There’s silence from the other side and then a pained muffled scream that gets louder and louder. One of the two naked lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling shatter, and Dean flinches when a glass shard grazes his cheek. Too many of the things in Purgatory had claws like glass. It was always dark there, but that didn’t make it any better. Sometimes, it seemed like it was easier to see things for what they were without the false reassurance of light.   
  
Behind him, footsteps sound on the rickety staircase. Castiel is walking down slowly, holding onto the railing.   
  
“Cas! You gotta get this door open.” Dean snaps, examining the door again. There’s no handle on the outside, just a snapped off piece of metal.   
  
Castiel walks next to Dean and reaches his finger out to prod at the jagged metal stump. “There is no handle.”   
  
“Yeah, I can see that!”   
  
“I can’t open this door.”   
  
“Okay, then just zap inside and get Sam out so we can help him.” Dean yells, impatiently. "He’s going through the motherload of withdrawals in there, and he’s not gonna make it on his own.”   
  
Castiel laughs. “Zap in there? Did you forget about that night the clan of Djinn cut me open and ate my grace? I’m completely powerless, remember?”   
  
Dean shudders at the memory. “No, no I remember. Sorry. I just — we need to get this door open.” Dean pushes on it again, but it doesn’t budge in the slightest.   
  
The angel leans closer to the doorframe and sniffs. “It’s been welded shut on the inside. It won’t open ever again.”   
  
“What, but then how did Sam expect to get out of there?” Dean hates himself for speaking the question aloud, because as soon as he does, the answer comes to him.   
  
“I believe Sam wasn’t planning on coming back out,” Castiel says, and tilts his head to the side when Sam starts howling again. “We will not be able to help him from out here.”   
  
“Then we have to find someone who can,” Dean says, turning to head back up the steps.   
  
********   
  
Hours later, every contact in their not particularly extensive list of allies is crossed out. Crowley isn’t an option. Castiel doesn’t have the ability to contact any other angels, nor can he think of any that would help.   
  
Dean decides their only real course of action is cutting the door open. He’s trying to think of who he knows that would have access to an industrial-grade cutting torch when there’s an odd thumping noise from downstairs.   
  
He’s down the stairs as fast as his legs can take him, but he freezes on the last step. There are five men gathered around the metal door. “Hey!” he yells, and two of them turn to face him, their eyes solid black. They’re bleeding — they’re  _all_  bleeding — from everywhere. Cuts on their faces and hands, slashes in their clothing. Blood is spilling onto the floor, sliding down the wall and towards the metal door. All of it is running under the tiny crack beneath the door. Into the room Sam’s in.   
  
There’s no noise at all coming from Sam. Dean yells out for Castiel who stands at the top of the stairs watching the scene unfold like he's in a trance.   
  
Dean stumbles his way through the  _Rituale Romanum_ , glad that years of one crisis after the other have given him the ability to remember how to exorcize a demon — even when most of his rational brain has shut down. The demons start to cough, then choke, not fighting him in the least. Then they all turn to him, open their mouths, and speak as one.   
  
**"Dean, stop.”**   
  
“Omnis legio diabolica…”   
  
**"Stop.”**  The demon closest to him stumbles forward, blood streaming from his eyes, ears and mouth. He speaks again, with all five mouths,  **“I need them. I’ll die without them.”**   
  
“Adjuramus te…”Dean steps back and away and recites the rest of the exorcism as quickly as he can, fending off the one demon lumbering towards him. It starts to cough, and collapses at the foot of the stairs. Black smoke begins to pour out of all five demons, faster and faster, and spills up the steps, past Castiel who blinks at Dean like he’s been asleep with his eyes wide open.   
  
The de-possessed bodies slump to the floor. Dean checks one pulse after the other. Two survived.   
  
“Cas! Get these guys to the hospital.”   
  
The angel stares at him blankly.   
  
“Take the car!” Dean says, tossing him the keys. “I have to figure out a way to get Sam out of here.”   
  
Castiel carries the two men up the stairs. He might have lost his mojo, but he’s still stronger than average.   
  
Dean turns back to the metal door, and pounds on it hard. His hand aches when he pulls it back.   
  
Then he hears Sam’s voice. He’s laughing. Or crying. Possibly both.   
  
“Sam? How are you doing in there?”   
  
“The blood...” Sam says quietly.   
  
Dean has to strain to hear him. He gets down on his knees, bringing his ear as close as he can to the open space beneath the door without touching his face to the blood. “I was wonderin’ about that. Did you—”   
  
“It ran right across the floor, and into my mouth.” Sam laughs again, hysteria tingeing his voice. “It ran across the floor, Dean. Right through the devil’s traps.”   
  
Dean pushes himself to his feet again, a half-second before the last remaining lightbulb shatters.   
  
Sam’s laughter turns to a low, pained scream.   
  
The air all around him fills with sulfur and so much dark smoke Dean can’t see. He presses himself flat against the wall and watches as the demon-mass streams through the gap under the door. After what seems like an eternity, the air clears. There’s a loud crack, and Dean feels the floor beneath him heave and shift. The wall splinters, sending bits of plaster and wood into the air. They patter down like hail as the door swings wide open.   
  
Blood trails across the floor, pointing to the empty center of the room like jagged arrows. There are no demons in the room. And there’s no Sam.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean is still sitting in the blood-stained room hours later. He’s just not capable of panicking -- mentally or physically. For starters, he’s in shitty physical condition — mostly due to not having eaten anything since he returned to Earth (the last thing he ate had six heads and tasted like rotting seaweed). More than that though, he just feels so damn powerless.  
  
There’s only one place Sam could have gone, and it’s not somewhere he can follow. He knows exactly who to summon to try to get him back, but he has zero leverage. The worst part though — the very worst part — is that even if he does get Sam back, there isn’t a damn thing he can do to help him. Cas is powerless, and Dean doesn’t have anyone else with massive amounts of healing mojo up his sleeve, which means that even if he did get Sam back he’d have to keep him on a constant IV of demon blood and then…then what? Sam locked himself up — tried to detox permanently, until somewhere along the line he’d figured out it wasn’t going to work. Sam had given up. So why should Dean think they stood a chance?  
  
He pulls out his pocket-knife and starts picking absently at his fingernails. They’re filthy. Blood, dirt, skin, scales, and everything a monster could spew…it’s all there. A microscope-slide of the gunk under his nails would be a biologist’s find of the century. He cleans one after the other, and nicks himself when he gets to his pinkie finger. His blood wells up cherry red and forms a perfect bead. The dim light of the morning is starting to come in through the tiny, barred window behind him. It passes through the blood on his finger, making it glow and he flicks his hand, sending the drop down into the criss-cross of red spray-painted devil’s traps and demon-blood covering the rest of the cement floor.  
  
He doesn’t look up when the air in front of him stirs and a pair of highly-polished, expensive shoes appears in front of him.  
  
“You don’t call, you don’t write,” Crowley says, sounding not the slightest bit aggrieved. “I’m starting to think you don’t treasure our friendship anymore.”  
  
Dean ignores him, and moves to clean his other hand, which is even grimier.  
  
After a minute of complete silence, Crowley taps his foot against the floor. “You’re not even going to ask? No ‘Where’s my brother you son-of-a-whore, give him back or I’ll pull out your spleen’?”  
  
“I know where he is,” Dean says.  
  
“Do you?” Crowley crouches down low, the edge of his coat brushing against the floor. “You know the exact floor and room number?”  
  
“Hell is Hell,” Dean says.  
  
“Normally, you’d be right…but then you two are very special customers, aren’t you? We can’t just put your brother up in a regular non-smoking room. No. We’ve got special suite reserved just for him. It’s got a magnificent view, round-the-clock room-service. No cable though. I mean, it  _is_  Hell.”  
  
Dean looks at the demon and tries to figure out what he’s getting at.  
  
“Matter of fact…he’s right next to the royal suite.” Crowley adds, winking as he stands up.  
  
Within two seconds, Dean has Crowley up against the wall with his knife-blade pressed into the demon’s throat. “The Cage? You put him back in the Cage?”  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t have the keycard to that.” Crowley smirks and pushes his head off the wall an inch, pushing the knife deeper into his neck, causing a thin line of blood to well up under the metal. “But…I did make sure there was a window between the two rooms. Sam can see Lucifer, and Lucifer can see  _Sam_.”  
  
Dean growls, pushing his blade further in. He knows it isn’t hurting the demon in the slightest, but at the moment, with no other weapon to speak of, he’s going to have to settle for making him bleed. “You son of a bitch.”  
  
“There’s the Dean I know and love.” Crowley grins. “Don’t worry. We’re taking good care of your brother — making sure he gets what he needs. Just enough to stay alive, not enough to do any real damage. He’s developed quite the nasty habit, you know. It’s sad, really. He can barely string a sentence together.”  
  
Dean pulls back from Crowley just far enough to punch him, hard. The way his hand hurts afterwards, he knows he’s broken a knuckle or two. Crowley looks even more smug. “So that’s why you’re here? To rub it in?”  
  
“Yes. But that’s not the only reason,” Crowley puts his hands in the pockets of his coat and straightens as he walks away from the wall. “I’m here to negotiate the terms of Sam’s release.”  
  
“Negotiate?”  
  
“Yes — that’s where you give me exactly what I want, or your brother stays where he is.” Crowley tilts his head at the sound of a door opening from upstairs.  
  
“We’re down here!” Dean yells.  
  
Crowley’s smirk drips with satisfaction. “Well isn’t that nice, we can check one item off the list already.”  
  
Castiel makes his way into the room a minute later. “Both men will be fine. They had insurance. I’m not sure what that means, but it seems very important.”  
  
Dean glances at his watch and back at the angel. “It took you three hours to get to the hospital and back? I thought it was like...five miles away!”  
  
“I had to help them with paperwork.” Castiel looks at Crowley like he’s noticing him for the first time. “Also, that was only my third time driving. Well — fourth time on the way back I suppose.”  
  
Crowley walks next to Castiel and drapes his arm around the angel’s shoulders. “For starters, I’m going to take our fine feathered friend with me as an advisor.”  
  
“He’s powerless,” Dean says automatically. “In Purgatory, they—“  
  
“Yes, how unfortunate for you,” The demon squeezes Castiel in a half-hug. “I won’t hold that against you, no worries.”  
  
“Then why do you want him?” Dean asks.  
  
“Because Heaven is in tatters, and our little flightless bird here has all the blue-prints in his head.Now on to your part." Crowley lets go of Castiel and points at Dean. "You’re desperate for a way to save Sam, naturally. I may know someone who knows someone who could make him all better. And I’ll tell you who that is  _if_  you do exactly what I say.”  
  
Now Dean’s interested. He racks his brain trying to think who Crowley could be talking about, but comes up empty. “I’m listening.”  
  
“His brain—” Crowley points at Castiel. “…has all the information I need to navigate Heaven. But he can’t get me in.” He turns so his finger is pointing at Dean. “But you can.”  
  
“Me?” Dean scoffs, “I’m not sure what you’ve been smokin’ but the only time I’ve ever been up there is when I was dead.”  
  
Crowley smiles sweetly. “An unfortunate pre-requisite, yes. Of course, when has death  _ever_  been permanent for the two of you?”  
  
“You want me to die because somehow that gets you into Heaven, and in exchange you’ll let Sam out of Hell and heal him?” Dean says, realizing the plan sounds even more stupid out loud.  
  
“Sam is in Hell?” Castiel asks.  
  
“I assure you, all his needs are being attended to.” Crowley smirks, holding his hands up in a gesture of mock-innocence.  
  
“Sam is in  _Hell_.” Castiel repeats, and his expression shifts into something bordering on amusement. “And I suppose you put him right next to Lucifer’s cage?”  
  
“Of course.” The demon frowns, confused by Castiel’s line of questioning.  
  
“And Meg— she’s in Hell too?” The angel says, his smile growing wider.  
  
“If you want her back as well, we’ll need to negotiate further—“ Crowley starts to say.  
  
“Meg, to whom Lucifer is a god— and you have her down there with the Devil’s true vessel just inches away. Doesn’t that seem like a remarkably bad plan to you?” Castiel honest-to-God giggles, and Dean wonders if his eggs got even more scrambled down in Purgatory. He’d seemed better for a while there.  
  
And then Dean gets it. “Lucifer still has followers in Hell, doesn’t he? True believers.”  
  
Crowley pales visibly — even in the dim light.  
  
“Are you sure that whoever you’ve got watching Sam and Meg is one-hundred percent Team Crowley?”  
  
“I'm their  _king_ , dammit,” the demon growls.  
  
“I’m sure that means a lot to demons.” Dean snaps his knife shut and tucks it into his pocket. “I’m thinking you might want to check on your hotel — see if there were any unexpected departures.”  
  
Crowley vanishes, leaving Dean and Castiel in the dark, blood-stained room.


	4. Chapter 4

Nearly an hour later, Dean decides to drag Castiel upstairs. There’s probably some kind of significance to the fact that Crowley hasn’t returned, gloating, just yet. But Dean's too damn hungry to think straight, and his stomach has gone past growling and moved on to cramping.  
  
The wall feels bumpy against his back as he slides down it and plops to the ground, too tired to find a more comfortable spot — not that there is one in this hole of a shack.  
  
“Oh right,” Castiel mutters when they get back to the devil trap decorated main room. He wanders out the front door with no preamble, and comes back in minutes later holding two white paper bags. “I got burgers. They’re cold now.” He drops one of the bags in Dean’s lap.  
  
Dean pulls out the burger from the bag and unwraps the crinkly yellow paper. It’s greasy on the inside and the burger is indeed cool, but it smells  _awesome_  and he devours it in about four messy mouthfuls.  
  
Castiel is holding up a pickle slice and sniffing at it suspiciously, when a chill runs through the air.  
  
The floorboards creak from somewhere to the left of him, and Dean turns his head. There’s a long shadow — cast by the dim light from the doorway between this room and the next. Dean’s heart stops a half-beat before the owner of the shadow speaks. Because it knows who’s standing in the other room, even before he does.  
  
“Hello, Dean.”  
  
The floorboards creak again, as Sam’s boots walk into the main room. Sam’s shadow disappears into the darkness of the rest of the room, and Sam’s eyes look down at Dean with a smirk that isn’t a thing like Sam’s.  
  
Dean stays on the floor, and crumples his greasy wrapper into a ball. He tosses it into the air once, twice and catches it between his fingers. “So you got out, huh?”  
  
“Mmm,” says the Devil, as he steps over Dean’s outstretched leg to stand in front of Castiel. “Hello, brother.” He narrows his eyes and leans closer. “You’re all hollowed out, aren’t you? How sad.”  
  
“Yeah, well Purgatory ain’t exactly Malibu, you know?” Dean says, pushing himself off the ground. He walks to stand next to Castiel and stares into his brother’s eyes. He’s in there somewhere.  
  
“How did Sam free you?” Castiel asks, looking up at Lucifer curiously.  
  
Sam’s lips quirk into a lopsided smile. “I convinced him Dean was still in Purgatory. He was…very upset.”  
  
“How did that crack open the cage?” Dean asks. “What’d you trick him into thinking the cage was Purgatory too?”  
  
Lucifer laughs. "I tried, but Sam could tell the difference." He taps one long finger against his temple. "Smart guy." He sighs contentedly and continues, "Sam cracked Purgatory open nice and wide. So wide, in fact, that it now feeds directly into Hell."  
  
Castiel raises an eyebrow. "Right by the cage?"  
  
"Bingo." The Devil straightens the torn collar of Castiel's filthy coat. "The souls from Purgatory were so excited about an exit, they didn't bother to check where it led. The influx was...massive. Earth-shaking, so to speak. Between that and two arch-angels straining against it, the cage just couldn't hold up. So, I slipped back into my Sunday best…” He rolls his head slowly to the left, preening. “…and here I am."  
  
"And Sam?" Dean asks. He looks into his brothers eyes, searches for a trace of him, but comes up empty.  
  
“He’s asleep,” Castiel says like it's a revelation. He looks at Lucifer in wonder. "And not because of you."  
  
"Really, and how would you know?" Lucifer asks, his voice full of false mockery.  
  
"Because I know the difference between subjugating a soul and occupying an unresistant vessel." Castiel nods. "You don't know what will happen when Sam wakes up."  
  
“Sammy?” Dean asks, feeling a weak flicker of hope somewhere deep in his chest. “You in there?”  
  
“Oh please,” Lucifer scoffs, turning away from Dean.  
  
“Where is Michael?” Castiel asks. “Did he not escape the cage as well?”  
  
“Of course he did. He’s in Heaven...what’s left of it.” He gives Castiel a bemused look. “I sent Adam up there with him, but he didn’t like it there. He came right back down to Hell.”  
  
“Adam?” Dean said, his insides feeling heavy with guilt. “Why would he—”  
  
“He’s a Winchester, after all. Do you understand how long we tortured him?”  
  
Dean’s hand trembles as he curls his fingers into a fist. “Yeah.”  
  
“His soul isn’t exactly human anymore. He’s quite well-suited to Hell. He’s probably studying with Meg right now.”  
  
“With Meg?” Castiel asks.  
  
Lucifer laughs. “She mentioned that you’ve got quite the little crush on her. Yes, Meg was rewarded for her loyalty and given exclusive rights to torture Crowley for the next two centuries. She’s having a blast.” He turns to Dean. “She was Alistair’s second-best student, Dean. Second only to you.”  
  
Dean ignores the Devil’s taunts. “Sam? Now might be a really good time to wake up, okay?”  
  
Castiel shakes his head and walks past Lucifer and Dean, towards the other room. There’s sunlight starting to come in through the boarded-up windows, and little dust motes float in the air.  
  
Dean shrugs. Trying to decipher why Cas decided to leave the room at that particular moment would just hurt his brain. He looks back at his brother’s eyes, trying to look past the arrogant archangel. “Come on, man, you’re stronger than him. You know you are.”  
  
Lucifer frowns. “You don’t honestly believe that, do you?”  
  
“He kicked your ass once. He can do it again.” Dean says simply. He hears footsteps behind him and turns to see Castiel walking back in holding a knife and a plastic box.  
  
Castiel opens the lid of the tupperware container revealing congealed red goop and dips the already blood-encrusted knife in it. “You need something he’ll react to physically.”  
  
Sam’s eyes widen as Lucifer looks down at the knife blade.  
  
“Something his body needs.” Castiel holds the knife tip up towards Sam’s face and smiles a most unangelic smile.  
  
Lucifer takes a step back with Sam’s long legs, but Dean shifts just in time to hook his own leg around his brother’s, bringing him down to the floor.  
  
Sam hits the floor with a loud thump, and within seconds the knife is back near his nose, Castiel looking into Sam’s eyes intently.  
  
A drop from the blade rolls off the tip, and lands right above Sam’s upper lip. A full-bodied shudder runs through him and his eyes flood solid black.  
  
Dean pulls the knife away from Sam’s face, nodding a silent  _thanks_  at Cas.  
  
Sam lets out a pained moan when his tongue finds the drop of blood. He stares up at Dean and his eyes fall back into their usual hazel.  
  
“Hey there,” Dean says and his voice only chokes a tiny bit. “You back with us?”  
  
“I’m—” Sam licks his lips. “I’m thirsty.”  
  
Dean nods, “I’ll get you something.” He heads over to the carton of bottled water he saw stashed in the corner and brings one back to Sam, twisting it open along the way.  
  
Sam sees the bottle and looks like he’s about to protest, but then he clenches his eyes shut and drinks, his hand shaking. He gives the bottle back to Dean. “I can feel him.”  
  
“You’ve suppressed him,” Castiel says. “That’s…very impressive. Especially given your condition.”  
  
The bitter laugh from Sam makes Dean’s stomach do flip-flops and he eyes his brother warily, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “My condition. Funny thing, actually…” Sam says. “Something about the dragon hearts, the blood of Purgatory…I think— I think it  _changed_  me, Dean.”  
  
“Changed you  _how_?”  
  
“Back in Stull, it took everything I had to hold Lucifer back, and that was just for a few seconds. Just long enough to—” Sam sits up, shaking his head like he’s fighting off the sense of vertigo from the memory. “But just now? You woke me up, and all it took was a little push. It was way too easy.” He laughs and there’s an edge of madness there. “Something’s different.”  
  
“Lucifer is not any weaker, in fact he seems far stronger than before” Castiel says steadily. “And although your power is great — for you, you are not stronger than him. There’s something else at work here.”  
  
Sam turns towards Dean and squints at the light coming in through the breaks in the wood. “What time is it?”  
  
Dean shakes his head and glances down at his wrist. It’s a reflex he hasn’t been able to get rid of, even though he lost his watch months ago. A wendigo had ripped it off his wrist, which at the time had been a relief, since he still had his arm afterwards. “No clue. If I had to guess? Probably close to noon.”  
  
“We should go outside. Can we go outside?” Sam asks.  
  
“Yeah, sure,” Dean says, nodding. “I haven’t seen the sun in…a while.” He doesn’t actually know how long they were gone, not that it really matters in the end. He’s out, and he intends to stay out.  
  
“The car is low on gas,” Castiel announces as they near the door.  
  
“I’ll keep that in mind. Also, for the record — you’re not driving again. That was a one-time thing.” Dean says, wincing at the haphazard way the Impala is parked. It looks dirty, which he supposes is largely Sam’s fault. He’d been busy tearing open Purgatory, and let the car maintenance fall by the wayside. He should be pissed, probably, but on the other hand — he’s not in Purgatory anymore and Sam somehow booted the Devil out of his brain. He can wait another day before giving Sam shit about his baby.  
  
Sam stares up at the sky, and a ghost of a smile passes across his face. “It feels good out here. It’s quieter than Hell.”  
  
“And it doesn’t stink, like Purgatory,” Dean adds with a smirk. “That place made me wish I had a sewer-scented air-freshener, seriously.”  
  
The laugh Sam gives in response is a shadow of its former self, but it’ll do for now. Things will get better. They will. Dean sits on the hood of the car, and waits for Sam to sit next to him. Castiel stands next to them, looking at the leaves of the trees blowing gently in the wind. They stay like that for a long time.  
  
*******  
  
After a dinner of Chinese food and two beers each, they decide it’s time to look for a place to sleep. They’re not staying in this hole another night — they’d just come back here to eat so they could pick up Sam’s duffel and his weapons-stash.  
  
Sam's on his way to the Impala’s trunk when he stops walking and doubles over in pain.  
  
“Sammy?” Dean is at his brother’s side in seconds.  
  
“Something is happening,” Castiel says, watching Sam.  
  
“Genius observation, Cas.” Dean helps Sam to the ground. “Sam, you okay?”  
  
“It’s opening. I can feel it.” Sam groans in pain and grips at the soil with his hands.  
  
“What’s opening?” Dean doesn’t know what to do, and he hates that more than just about anything.  
  
Sam’s eyes bleed black. “Purgatory.”  
  
“Purgatory? But I thought you like annexed it to Hell, or whatever.”  
  
“Is that—” Sam winces again, clutching at his chest. “Is that what he told you?”  
  
Dean nods. “Was he lying?”  
  
Sam shakes his head, “Not exactly. I did, but it’s not that simple.”  
  
“Cross-dimensional geography is never simple, “ Castiel says solemnly.  
  
“Damnit, that's why it was so easy to push him aside. Because of Purgatory." Sam says, like it's a revelation. "I opened it when I was in Hell, but  _I’m_  the door.” Sam says, and his eyes shift from black to some milky shade of green. It’s the same shade as the water in Purgatory. “I can’t— Dean, I can’t hold on, I’m sorry.” Sam’s body starts to shake violently and then he falls completely still. Dean reaches for him, but his hand sinks into the soil instead. Sam’s gone.  
  
Wings beat from somewhere behind them and Dean turns around to see Lucifer looking down at him with Sam’s eyes.  
  
“What did you do to him?” Dean asks as he stands up.  
  
“Me?” Lucifer’s eyes widen. “I didn’t do anything. Sam’s soul is a bit preoccupied at the moment, that’s all. His heart’s currently acting as a portal between Hell and Purgatory. There’s a lot of immigration and emigration going on. The paperwork’s going to be a nightmare.”  
  
“His heart?” Dean glares at the Devil. “His heart was in his body, last time I checked.”  
  
“You are a smart one,” Lucifer says, smirking. “His heart — metaphysically speaking. This might be a bit much to grasp, but I’ll try to dumb it down for you.”  
  
Dean resists punching Lucifer, because he wants to hear the answer, and because he knows he’d just end up with a broken fist.  
  
“Hell isn’t just my kingdom, it’s a part of me. It was made of me. Therefore, as long as I’m in Sam, Hell is inside of both of us. And now, thanks to Sam, so is Purgatory.” He turns to wink at Castiel, “And you know what that’s like, don’t you, little brother?”  
  
“Anyway, in really simple terms: Hell burns with the fire of the sun, so during the day, Hell —  _my kingdom,_  reigns, but at night, the time of darkness, Purgatory rises.”  
  
“So…during the day Sam’s in charge, but at night he takes the backseat again?” Dean repeats incredulously.  
  
“Got it in one.” Lucifer reaches forward to pat Dean on the shoulder, but Dean steps back, just out of reach. “Don’t worry. It’s nothing your brother can’t handle. He’s very resilient.”  
  
Dean’s stomach sours, thinking of Sam having to go through this every day. “So this is like…some kind of Jekyll and Hyde deal?”  
  
Lucifer laughs, “More like Persephone, I think.”  
  
“The only one who calls my brother a chick is me, got it?” Dean says, humorlessly.  
  
“Of course,” Sam’s lips curve into a smile. “I have to say, all things considered this arrangement isn’t all that bad. While I don’t appreciate being locked up in my vessel’s mind for half the day, I do like the idea of seeing you more often.”  
  
Dean rolls his eyes. “I don’t want to see you. I want to see my brother.”  
  
“Well in that case, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Lucifer winks, and with the sound of beating wings, he’s gone.  
  
*******  
  
Sam returns the next morning, and vanishes as soon as the sun begins to set. The same thing happens the next day and the next day and the day after that.  
  
Dean wonders sometimes if he ever really left Purgatory, or if Purgatory just followed him home.


End file.
